


The Distance Between

by Lavendergaia



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 03:57:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5076907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavendergaia/pseuds/Lavendergaia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Jemma heads back to work in the lab, Fitz is forced to do the one thing he wants to do least: give her some space.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Distance Between

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ruthedotcom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruthedotcom/gifts).



> Ruth challenged me to write a fic under 3.5k. I barely succeeded. 
> 
> Thank you to ardentaislinn and fitzsimmonsy for betaing!

Fitz could not be trusted to make a good judgment call.

Bobbi had done everything but put a line of tape down the middle of the lab, designating which was his side and which was Jemma’s for the foreseeable future. “You have to let her do her own thing, Fitz,” she had said, blue eyes irritatingly full of compassion and concern. Bloody kind-hearted person made of warmth and empathy. “She’s got to be able to do her work without you being two steps behind her. And you need to do yours!” She was immune to his death glares—and why wouldn’t she be, she’d been married to Hunter of all people—and just told him, “Look, you’ll be in the same room if she really needs you, and you know her, you’ll know when that time is. Just give Simmons a chance to work through some things for herself without you hovering all of the time.”

Hmph. That was a lot coming from someone so tall they could hover from across the room. The remaining logical parts of Fitz knew she was right, knew he had stumbled and faltered the most at his recovery when he had felt watched, under a microscope of scrutiny by people who expected him to do better. It wasn’t that he expected Jemma to be okay—he was fully sure that she would not be—he just wanted to be there, to be supportive.

But the next day, he told her to go to the lab without him after he cleaned up breakfast. Jemma raised a curious eyebrow at him and offered to help, but Fitz shooed her away. Clean break, he told himself as he watched her walk away, gathering their plates to put in the dishwasher. And even though he knew it was an exaggeration, it felt like sending her off to war.

She was already working when he got into the lab; he could see the tension in her shoulders when he came in, the small jump at the sound of the door engaging. He made a mental note to tell the techs that coming and going was to be kept at a minimum—if you left the lab, it was going to be for good.

Murmuring softly as he approached her so as not to startle her, he set a mug of tea down on the edge of her station before kissing her cheek. She smiled at him over her shoulder. There was still a certain weariness about her and he wasn’t sure when it was going to fade, if it ever would. Heart clenching, he leaned his forehead against her temple and stayed there for a minute. Then, taking a deep breath, he retreated to his side of the lab.

He didn’t think he got any more work done that day than he had any other day since she’d been back. Despite the upgrades he’d been supposed to make on Zephyr One and specs for Coulson’s new hand that were supposed to be drawn up, his attention kept drifting to Jemma. Every time she was visibly shaken by a loud noise or confused by the movement of a tech or a machine, he wanted to go and comfort her. And every time she closed her eyes and took a few breaths and carried on, his heart swelled with so much pride and love for this woman that had gone through so much that he thought he might burst.

All of the work he should have been doing was pushed out of his mind for updates to the lab: how to make it more accessible to her, what changes to the environment would make it easier for her to work, how he could change the schedule to limit personnel in there during the day. They were co-Heads of the Science Division again, surely he could use his seniority to his advantage. There must be one or two or a dozen of them who wouldn’t mind taking the overnight shift.

When Jemma seemed overwhelmed by trying to use one of the machines, Bobbi got to her before Fitz did, talking playfully about whether she should cut her hair like Daisy as she helped her figure it out. As Jemma laughed—lightly, breathlessly, but not without humor—Bobbi looked over her shoulder and winked at him. As jealous as he was that Bobbi was allowed to work with her, he knew that they were all in their right places.

Fitz only ventured over to her side of the lab when he was starting to get hungry. It was undoubtedly earlier than most people would decide dinner was, but Coulson was too busy to care about the minutiae of the lab, so the two of them at least were mostly able to make their own hours. “Did you want to get some dinner?” he said, resting his hand on her shoulder.

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Jemma hesitated for a moment, but he was so attune to her that he noticed. Fitz nudged her gently and raised his eyebrows until she shook her head. “It’s nothing, I just—these numbers, they look right, right?”

Frowning, he quickly scanned through her tablet, nodding along at the data. “Yeah, it looks fine.” He handed it back to her cautiously. “Why, did you get some odd readings?”

The relief on her face was obvious as she shook her head. “No, no, I just… Sometimes I wonder if I’ve forgotten everything.”

“Are you kidding me?” he said. He eased the tablet from her, then shut it off and tossed it aside. “You’re the smartest person in the world.” When she attempted to protest, he hurried on, “Even smarter than me occasionally. You haven’t forgotten everything, you just need to get used to it again.” Tapping the side of his head, he said, “If anyone was going to forget anything, it was me, and I only forgot like, a quarter—”

She winced at his poor attempt at humor, reaching out to caress her thumb gently against his temple. It was rare these days that she was the one who initiated physical contact and he savored it for a brief moment. Wrapping his hand around hers, he said, “You’ll get used to it. I promise.”

As they headed to the kitchen to find something for dinner, Jemma said, “You were gone a lot of the day.”

Widening his eyes at her, Fitz fumbled for words. “I, uh, I had a lot of stuff to do. For Coulson. He’s not happy with the current prosthetic. Was working on designs for him.” He had, at one point, done that which made this not a total lie. Jemma made a thoughtful noise and Fitz squeezed her hand. “Was thinking about giving him a can opener, maybe in his ring finger.”

Startled, she stared up at him, unblinking. “What?”

“You know, can opener, or, or maybe a bottle opener in his ring finger, I know he likes to unwind occasionally, but he shouldn’t resort to cans. Maybe a flashlight in the thumb, knife in the pointer. Sort of like a Swiss Army Hand.”

She struggled to hide her amusement, even now that it was obvious that he was kidding. “I don’t think he’ll go for that.”

“I dunno.” Fitz gently bumped her shoulder, and his heart soared when she didn’t freeze and instead bumped him back. “I think something like that could be…handy.”

Without stifling her groan, she leaned her head against his neck, as if physically unable to handle his jokes. “Oh, _Fitz_.”

The following days were more of the same: they would eat breakfast together and then head to the lab. Sometimes he would make tea, sometimes they would make it together, and when that happened it was one of his favorite parts of the day: the dainty way she would pour just a spot of milk, the way she teased him about his sugar intake, the pink in her cheeks when he threatened to pour the entire sugar bowl into her cup. It was the sort of thing that reminded him that the more things changed, the more they stayed the same

It was the lab where he felt the difference. As he continued to keep his distance, Fitz and Jemma worked on their projects separately. He was happy to note that it was a different sort of feeling than before when she returned, from after she had been at Hydra. There wasn’t an overwhelming tension in the room, no feeling that every movement he made was the wrong one. Yes, he was conscious of the sounds that he made, still made sure to alert Jemma when he was coming near her, but it wasn’t nearly the same when it was an act of courtesy rather than one of anxiety.

They continued working that way for almost a week and Fitz was beginning to get used to it. He still yearned to be near her, even if he couldn’t work with her, and every time she called him over to ask him a question or to consult on her work, he took off on a run that violated all lab safety protocols. The few minutes every day when they worked together were the highlight of the time in the lab, the fusion of ideas, the synergy of their combined mental energies. It made their time apart that much more difficult, but he could see the progress she was making in just a short amount of time and that meant more to him than anything that he wanted.

When she wandered over to his side of the lab and peered over his shoulder, Fitz froze. “Hi? Can I…what do you need? You alright?”

“I just wanted to let you know that I was going to go make lunch,” she said, leaning gently against his arm.

“Are you hungry?” he said, quickly trying to wipe grease off his hands. “Sorry, time got away from me, I didn’t realize.” He’d actually been making progress on Coulson’s hand, the creativity flowing better than it had in weeks. “I’ll go whip us up something.”

“No, I’ve got it.” She settled her hand on his shoulder as he stared at her, unsure. “Really, I’m at a good stopping point, I’m almost done with the cat.”

Fitz glanced over at her side of the lab and held back a shudder. She had been brought various animal samples that they believed had somehow ingested the terrigen—most likely through the food chain, as they were almost all tertiary consumers who she hypothesized had eaten primary and secondary consumers that had gotten it from the water supply. She had dove eagerly into the autopsies to see the results of the crystals on their remains, and while Fitz was glad she was excited about a project, he had remained firmly on his side of the lab.

“I mean, well, if you want,” he said, putting his hands on his hips. She didn’t seem as tired as usual, and now that he wasn’t so occupied with his work, he was feeling hungry. “Are you sure you don’t want me to?”

“Keep working,” she insisted, squeezing his shoulder. She let her hand fall down his arm and he laced his fingers through hers for a moment. “I can make lunch.”

He nodded and reluctantly released her hand. “Okay. Okay.”

Jemma gave him a smile before heading out of the lab and Fitz closed his eyes, counting backwards from one hundred to ease his worries before he settled back in with his prototype. The time seemed to pass quickly because before he knew it, Jemma was back in the lab, calling him over. “Your sandwich is over here.” He could hear her snapping on a pair of rubber gloves and shoved every image of what she might be doing with them.

After he thoroughly scrubbed his hands, he headed over to her. “It’s on my desk,” she called over to him from another station when she seemed to be reexamining remains. He wasn’t sure what kind of inspiration she could have to dig her hands into various animal parts while making sandwiches, but he decided it was best not to question her.

As he wandered over to her table, the first thing he saw was _the_ sandwich: the prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella with what was most assuredly a hint of pesto aioli. His mouth instantly watered. Understandably, she hadn’t made it for him since she’d returned. He’d tried once to make it for her but it hadn’t gone as well as he’d hoped; his aioli had been fairly disastrous. All he wanted in life right now was to eat this sandwich.

Then he saw it: next to the sandwich, not six inches away, was a petri dish and inside that petri dish was an organ and his stomach started to churn. He stared at the back of Jemma’s head, wondering if this was some sort of punishment for something he hadn’t even known he’d done. Gaping at her as she continued to work, he tried to voice his outrage, but nothing came out. He didn’t _want_ to yell at her, wasn’t even sure if she knew what she had done. Still, it felt like some sort of betrayal, a personal insult to be invited to this sandwich and have it be contaminated in front of his eyes.

“Jemma!” he finally spat out and she whirled around, eyes wide behind her goggles. She wasn’t used to that tone of voice after so long and he bit the inside of his cheek for a moment before gesturing to the table. “What is this?”

“It’s…it’s your favorite,” she said quietly, brows drawn in confusion.

“No, I know, thank you for making it.” He pointed to the specimen on the petri dish, shuddering as he gave it a closer look. “But what is this? That’s not—that’s not cat’s liver, _again_?”

Her face fell and she picked it up, a flush of shame coating her cheeks. “Oh, yes, well done, Fitz. See, you do remember things from biology, and you always say it’s your worst of the sciences.” Quickly picking the liver and moving it back to her station with the other body parts, she avoided his gaze.

“But what was it doing next to my lunch?”

“I just set it down there for a moment! It’s actually the most fascinating of all the parts, there’s some crystallization that I think is possibly from the terrigen and—” She cut herself off at the highly unamused look on his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t do it on purpose.”

Sighing, he shook his head. “No, I know you didn’t.” Setting his hands on his hips, he stared at the floor. “Look, I know that coming back is still new to you and everything, but we’re…we’re the Heads of this department. There’s a lot of rules we can fudge—like how no one’s even supposed to be eating in the lab at all—but we’ve got to make sure that things are done right. It’s not just our lab anymore, other people work here and we’re supposed to be an example to them so that they get things done properly and if we can’t remember to put biological samples in the correct place or misplace _cat’s livers_ , we can’t expect them to listen to us.”

When he looked up at her, she was…smiling, which was not what he expected, but he tentatively smiled back. “You’re right, Fitz,” she said. “Of course, our lab needs to be a proper work environment.” She gathered up some biological sample containers—blue, as always—and quickly placed away and labeled the rest of the cat before cleaning up her station. When everything was thoroughly disinfected and she had washed her hands, she turned to him with a grin. “Shall we eat?”

“Oh, no, there’s no way I’m eating that,” he said mournfully, staring at the sandwich that had forsaken him.

Rolling her eyes, she stepped to the side of the handwash station, where she had opened a fresh box of gloves. “We’ll share mine then.” At his skeptical gaze, she said, “I promise, it hasn’t been near anything biological. Except me.”

Together they perched at the edge of her desk, trading the sandwich back and forth. Fitz let out a low moan upon his first bite. “Mmmm. God I missed this.”

There was no hiding the pleased smile on her face. Swallowing, she said, “I didn’t think you would yell at me.”

His eyes flew open. “No, Jemma, no, I wasn’t yelling.”

“No, you were, sort of, and I deserved it. I know lab protocol. It’s just…” She swung her leg, her foot bouncing against his shin. “It’s been so different. We had our own lab, and then we were both here but we weren’t really here _together_. And then being gone for so long…” Her voice tightened up and his hand came to rest upon her back, stroking slowly up and down. “I guess I just fell into bad habits. You’re right, we’re meant to be in charge and that means we’re an example. But I agree we should get to eat lunch wherever we want,” she added, taking another bite of the sandwich.

Nodding in understanding, he said, “I know. It’s okay.”

“It’s different too with you being so far away,” she murmured, avoiding his gaze.

His heart pounded in his chest. “But that’s—I mean—” Breaking off with a sigh, he rubbed a hand over his face. “Bobbi said that you needed some space, said I was hovering too much.”

Resting her hand on his knee, she smiled softly. “I do and you were. But it’s still different. I’m so used to you being here and I…I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” he said, putting down the sandwich so he could grab her hand.

Jemma smiled fondly. “I do think the space is good, it’s good for me to be able to learn to work alone again, to be able to catch myself. But that doesn’t mean you need to be all the way over there all the time, does it?”

“Nah, no, it doesn’t,” he said, leaning his head against hers. She sighed, almost in relief as she sank into him and Fitz could tell she was indulging in his presence as much as he was hers.

As they finished up the sandwich, splitting the last bite, Fitz groaned in contentment. “That was amazing. I’d almost eat that other one you made.” When she raised an eyebrow at him, he said, “ _Almost_. Still better than the one I tried to make you.”

She wrinkled her nose at the memory, but shrugged. “It’s okay. I’ll teach you. And you always make the best pancakes.” She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, eyes suddenly far away. “That’s what I wanted when I was away. I wanted your pancakes.”

His heart sunk to his stomach as he pressed his lips against her temple, his arm wrapping around her shoulders. “I’ll make them for breakfast tomorrow.”

Coming back to herself, her eyes danced as she looked up at him, shining bright. “You know, I don’t want everything to change, Fitz.” He nodded, and when he stopped, she leaned over and kissed him gently at the corner of his mouth, lingering there for a long moment. “But I’m really glad some things have,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder.

Fitz held her tightly, his thumb slowly stroking her skin. “Yeah, me too.”

He would make her pancakes every morning for the rest of his life.  


End file.
